Fallen
by Fallen-Gabriel
Summary: Garrosh Hellscream faces a not so welcome desire in Northrend that may lead him to a path of obsession and destruction...


It started off simple. Of course, then again, didn't everything? The campaign in Northrend had started off relatively easy. The hold being built upon a natural quarry they'd found along the coast line, it'd seemed perfect…At the time. He hadn't anticipated at the time that they'd be freezing their asses off along the beach while everything was being constructed. But, again, those were the simple days.

Those days may have been uncomplicated, but they were harsh. Every hour of the morning was filled with hauling steel and lumber across the frozen earth to be fortified and crafted. Water froze in canteens and fires were constantly going…But no one stayed warm. Nothing even really stayed lukewarm. They were forced to camp out on the beach near the boats – those at least offered a buffer against the horrid icy spray – in case of vrykal attacks. Their first night in they had slept down in the quarry next to the setting of the hold, and had quickly awoken to the burning smell of several of their ships.

Such an incident could not be repeated. So despite the blasting bitter cold above ground, and next to the ocean, he had them sleep out on the dreaded sand. The tents were virtually useless, the winds of the north blasting them away and leaving them exposed to the elements. Some men's eyelids froze shut when morning came and had to be rubbed open with hands that were too cold to actually achieve anything but raw skin.

Sometimes, when he thought back on it, he was amazed that the elder Orc did as much as he had done. Seeing his age, and the fact that he was an Overlord, he could have sat back and done not even half as much as he did. But every day he was up with the men – often earlier in fact – hoisting pieces into place, whether it was steel or lumber, and he was the last constructing on the hold every day. In the mornings, when the rustle of furs met his ear, he could look over his shoulder and find him already awake and setting out to work. Often, he heard the crack of his bones, or he could see his leaned muscles stretch below his skin to the subtlest of winces across his features.

Varok Saurfang had become thinner in his age. He was still an Orc, a warrior at that, and he acted with the youth that should be reserved for someone half his age...Those long days had not been kind to him. He was known to work harder than most of the recruits, the bags forming under his eyes with a quickness that could only be rivaled by a snake's strike. His eyes developed a film, framed by icy lashes, and he almost appeared thinner. To say he was guilty for not getting up during those long days with the other was an understatement.

Now though, those days were gone, and today was to be far from simple. When the Hold had been done, they had moved in quickly, the men eager to escape the biting cold, and the harsh blast of the sea. The warmth around bellied the true harshness of the place…At least for Garrosh Hellscream anyway. Battle plants, shipment bills, troops, damned adventurers, and apothecaries, with a dash of missing in actions across his desk made nothing simple.

Sometimes, when his brow hurt from furrowing, his eyes felt hazy from numbers, or his ass ached from sitting in his fucking chair so long, he wished for those days of building the hold. Back then, all he had was his axe in his hand against the scourge, and good men at his back to hold off a couple vrykal. But none of these things was as bad as sitting through a war meeting with the elder Orc. Saurfang treated him like a moron. Plain, and simple.

If that wasn't bad enough, he was expected to meet with Thrall for meetings in Dalaran, or that Tournament. And what a blast those always turned out to be. _Yes, let's hit each other with blunted sticks to prove our merit on the field. Ridiculous…_

But that was not the worst…Lately, he'd had…Issues. Mainly around Saurfang. He rolled his eyes and threw another report out of the way. Another missing soldier. He put his elbow on his desk, resting his chin on his fist, and his other hand sat idle in front of him over another bill. It seemed that Varok leered in his thoughts on the beach. Well, that's where it had started at least. At first, it had been that he liked the small twinge of the other's voice. He wasn't exactly sure where such a liking originated, or where it had come from that it just suddenly struck him like a blow to his own body.

It infected his mind, this infatuation, and his brow furrowed one day he'd actually sat down to comprehend it. He'd been sitting on his pile of sleeping furs after a long day, the fire dwindling low, and Varok wasn't yet at camp.

G-S

He threw a log onto the fire, watching the flames devour it greedily in an effort to stay alive. His eyes narrowed as he leaned back on his makeshift bed, pillowing his head on his arm, and staring into the fire.

His voice was low; a kind of husky tint to it, and it occurred to him that he'd never heard the elder's voice rise above a murmur outside of battle. He always seemed perfectly composed, his aged face betraying nothing, and foggy eyes half-lidded. If anything, he'd almost think him bored. But his voice…It was too strong, too keen to be anything but completely alert. It seemed that old age had mellowed him, but made him no less weary of danger.

Garrosh frowned, rolling over to look at the sky, and pull his blankets onto his form. He imagined the roll of the other's tongue, the small way his throat moved when he rumbled something out in that deep baritone. He licked his lips, imagining his name…

"Garrosh." It roiled into his ear and he couldn't suppress the shiver. _What the hell_?! His eyes widened, infuriated at himself. He must be lonelier than he thought. But again, his mind mulled, obeying his silent desire it seemed. "Garrosh." The young Orc gulped, feeling arousal pool in his stomach, and his breathing picked up. _What is wrong with me? _He wasn't sure, his mind feeding him more as an image of the other loomed behind his suddenly closed eyes.

"Garrosh…" The elder was hovering over him, his tired eyes searching the Hellscream's amber pair. Garrosh reeled; pressing further into the furs below him as the other came closer…He realized he couldn't escape. And it was even more frightening that he didn't want to. Saurfang's white hair spilled over his shoulders, his bangs falling over his brow to mask half his face in shadow. But his eyes were still there, those misty depths…He wanted to...

The need to touch made his fingers itch, made him want to tangle his fingers into those snow colored locks, the feel of them just trailing across the skin of his abdomen making him gulp. _I want to…_ He wanted to feel the course skin of his muscles, and then the sudden smoothness of his scars against his palms, the tips of his fingers skittering over flesh worn like leather. His hands rose to -

"Garrosh, what are you doing?" Saurfang's voice rang out, and Garrosh shot up to find the other across the way, his shadow stretched up behind him on the rock wall. "You were muttering to yourself."

"I…" Rage boiled when he paused, unsure, and he growled. "Nothing, just a dream, get some sleep old one. You'll need it." He turned over, pulling his blankets up a little further. A tense air fell, a pause following before he heard the rustle of the other settling into bed. He rubbed his face, closing his eyes, and willed away any noise but the sound of the ocean beating against the rocks.

S-G

That was the start, days passed, and time seemed to slow. In fact, the beast in his mind, this thing that first made him notice the elder clawed at the walls of his sanity, and seemed to feed off their time together. But since that night, it had remained relatively quiet, purring silently from the confines of his mind whenever they were near, or the other put his hand on his shoulder. Whenever they were close, it fed and gained in momentum.

Now, it was stomping around, growling viciously, and he shuddered at what it might do. It thrashed in earnest, wishing to be satisfied with the elder. He wished he could kill the damn thing, crush it where it lurked and send it reeling away. The last thing he needed was this sort of thing crawling beneath his skin, creeping under his eye lids and sending him the memories of that dreaded night. The elder, poised above him, his eyes filled with a look the other couldn't even comprehend.

Why was he looking at him like that? The Hellscream knew the answer before he'd even finished mentally asking himself…Because he wanted him to, because this roiling thing inside of him wished to see that look in the other's eyes. _Damnit… _Garrosh rubbed his brow, tightening his jaw, and shuddered.

_That was the first time_. He reminded himself, thinking later of another incident in which the beast had managed to wrestle control from him in an attempt to satisfy itself. It had been shortly after the hold had been built, their first war meeting as it were. The room he remembered was still chilly from the early part of the day, the pyres just then being lit by a couple of peons, and the fire had just started to leisurely roar in the hearth.

The previous night they had finally gotten to sleep in their own beds, piled high with furs, and far away from the lurking doomed shore of cold. A good night, all-in-all, but that couldn't be said for the next few waking hours. He'd entered the room with a few battle plans in his hand, rolled up firmly, and had found himself face-to-face with none other than Dranosh Saurfang. He was once again reminded of the days they toiled away as children, wrestling, and brawling under the Nagrand sun.

They'd come to Azeroth together, the younger Saurfang covered in his father's old war armor. And almost immediately after stepping through the portal they'd been attacked by a group of marauding demons. It didn't take long for him to start shouting orders; his booming war cry sounding next to Garrosh's enough to rival his scream.

Remembering his old friend made him resettle in his chair, unease creeping over him. What would Dranosh have said about this odd infatuation he had with his **father**? The Hellscream shook the thought away as the memory once more was brought to the surface.

G-S

Varok was watching his son with such admiration that the beast had started to chew none too gently at Garrosh's chest, thudding against his ribcage, and gnawing at what it could get it's grimy paws on…His sanity being the closest thing. It was the first time he'd ever felt something like this, and therefore, he didn't know exactly how to identify the foreign emotion.

He growled to alert the two to his presence, making them look up from the papers that were scattered across the board room table, the long expanse of it covered in marks and dents. Dranosh gave him a customary nod, whilst Saurfang did nothing but cross his arms and stare at him. It was a look that would normally be reserved for a parent that was scolding their child in the most patient way possible, or a mentor who knew his pupil did something **wrong** and didn't have the guts to tell. His face would have heated up in embarrassment had it not been for Dranosh.

"You brought some battle plans?" Garrosh nodded like a dumb fool and walked over, mentally thanking the other Orc for his quick intervention. Varok averted his gaze, moving to sit in a chair at the head of the table. Once he'd made it to Dranosh's side he regretted walking in to begin with. Apparently, the younger Saurfang had his own strategy to use, and it looked infinitely better than what Garrosh had concocted. The beast brooded in its chambers as the Hellscream laid it out and discussed it as if it wasn't the complete garbage he knew it was.

Humiliation wasn't the proper term for the next half an hour. Varok had said very little, pouring himself a glass of fucking tea and acting more like a fly on the wall than an actual Overlord. He and Dranosh had discussed everything and he'd quickly pointed out that the younger Saurfang's strategy was better and left the room. Garrosh had made it back to his rooms just in time to shred the damn plans and throw it in the fire. He'd virtually torn off his shoulder pauldrons and chest piece, throwing them down before the hearth, and pulled off his greaves as well. He sat down in a chair, hissing, and cursed to himself.

"Fool, what the hell were you thinking?" He rubbed his brow, grumbling to himself, and the beast rumbled in the darkness of his mind. Apparently, it hadn't gotten its fill, and wanted him to return to the war room. Like hell he was going back in there to shame himself again! His pride at the time was stronger than the little bastard so he won out in the end.

He sat there for a while, head thrown back and staring at the ceiling. His mind wandered for a little while, his mouth downturned in a frown, and brow furrowed. _Where the Hell did this come from? Why do I want…him? _His fingers twitched as the fantasy from the beach floated under his eyelids. The snow white locks, the skin, his breath on Garrosh's neck. Eventually, he stood and made himself a drink, throwing back several shots of whiskey so that his mind was just a little fuzzy. He'd hoped that just a few of these would send such figments away, if anything though; they seemed to swirl into sharpness.

Arms appeared on either side of his hips, a firm form fitting him to the bar as he gulped, and a mouth pressed against the side of his neck. Plate…Cold, callous, sharp armor that prodded the ridges of his shoulders and his ribs where the other's arms wrapped partially around him. He could smell him, the musk of ice and leather, with the tang of metal just hanging on the edge. And that damn butter cream. Was it wrong that he knew what the other bathed in?

His tabard rubbed against the plains of Garrosh's back, the course linen scraping over his skin, and his jaw clenched at the contact. How damned was he right now? Lips cracked with frost, but warm with his breath stroked down the Mag'har's neck, to his shoulder. The red-skinned Orc bit his lip, rocking back into the other's form, his hands drifting to the counter top…Finger tips sliding across its surface before the elder's hands found his, overlapping them to hold them prisoner to the polished surface.

"Garrosh…" His voice sounded deeper than usual, stronger than his bellows on the battlefield, but just as low as the murmurs he always spoke in. The Hellscream shivered, his breathing picking up, and sweat started on his brow. He couldn't help it, his anxiety skyrocketed, body tensing under the smallest movement of the elder behind him. "You're tense…" His knees quaked, eyes widening as he shuddered against the elder. "We'll have to do something about that, won't we?" The lips just hovering above his pulse suddenly descended, pressing to his skin and he sighed pleasantly at the sensation.

"Ngh…Sau – Saurfang." The Hellscream moaned, pressing back on the other, and panting at the feel of his warm chest against his sensitive back. His muscles flexed and tensed as Varok placed light kisses along the back of his neck and forward to his neck. A harsh, hard, heat was pressing into the small of his back, and he shuddered – knowing what it was. The beast in his mind cooed as the elder inhaled his scent along his neck, his head lowering to bite into the meat of his shoulder.

"You're shivering boy…" Saurfang's harsh voice rasped, his hands sliding off of the younger Orc's hands to wrap around his mid-section and seal him to his front. "Control yourself." He whispered, his right hand rubbing into the Mag'har's abdominal muscles. They contracted, the mere touch of the other sending him arching back against him once more. Varok chuckled, nuzzling his ear and breathing out a ragged sigh.

"You make sweet music…For a warrior." He could hear the smirk that curled his features, and rage boiled beneath his skin with mortification.

"You bastard!" He managed to hiss out, the arousal spreading up to his face, his cheeks burning, and eyes becoming darker. Garrosh couldn't help it, couldn't see, couldn't think straight…Nothing made sense, everything was blurry and narrowed down on the swiftly building arousal that made his blood run south. Maybe that was it…The blood was running from his brain too fast and too much. It was getting harder to breathe, his nostrils clogged with the other's scent.

"Breathe Garrosh." The husky command entered his clouded mind, sending his chest heaving for air. It was like that on the battlefield, his demands always sent him with the others, head long into combat and working to do as he said without a second thought of consequence. "Again…" And once more, he took a deep inhale of air.

"V – Varok…" He felt the elder shudder behind him, the world spinning in an instant as his lower back painfully collided with the bar, and he was pinned back by his arms. Saurfang's eyes were dark, a film developed over them, and Garrosh couldn't believe he was looking into the same Orc's eyes. There was no composure in those irises, no hint of remorse or gentleness. Only hunger. The Hellscream's whole body tensed, eyes wide, and body shivering. "Var…ok…" He couldn't hide the fear, couldn't hide the growing desire that was boiling in the pit of his stomach.

It was the same…almost. His white hair spilling free, tickling Garrosh's face as he leaned in so close that their lips were only an inch apart, and the taste of the air he exhaled. The fire outlined his form, sending his shadow over him, and his powerful arms kept him locked down. But he was covered in armor, his tabard bunched up slightly from where he'd shoved the Hellscream against the bar after flipping him around…

"What have you done to me, boy?" His voice was a low growl, unsure, and gruff with arousal. Garrosh reached up, finally able to tangle his hands into those white locks, and gulped. It was soft, silken, but became brittle at the tips. It was straight, with a slight wave at the bottom where it needed trimming. Saurfang attacked his throat, the white strands of his bangs tickling his jaw, and teeth scraping the apple of his throat.

"All I can think about…" That voice! It was so dark, the intensity of it fringing and grating upon his mind, embedding itself there, imprinting him as a sinner, damning him for just listening to the sound against his skin. "Is fucking you against every surface, every wall, breaking every table, and bedframe to that sweet music of your screams…Begging me to stop." His lower belly coiled at the words, vision and mind swimming as he clutched onto the other that was ravishing his throat.

Between his legs he was hot and throbbed, pressed against the elder's belly, and he gasped when he felt something equally as hard. It was like hot stone, the other's sheer arousal causing the plate of his armor to heat up to an unbearable temperature. He shuddered, chest heaving against the other's clothed abdomen, rocking his hips for friction – something, anything! Everything the white-haired Orc did spiked down his body, soaring through him and making him give noises that no warrior of the Horde should make.

He bit hard on his lip, almost taking off the meat of it as the elder sucked along the lump of his throat, and nipped to leave a welt. Garrosh swallowed hard, the iron tang of his blood seeping between his teeth, and into his mouth to poison it with his own essence and the other's sweat. Saurfang swiped his tongue over the welt he'd left, soothing away the pain he might have left. His head rose though, Garrosh's fingers squeezing gently on his scalp as those eyes settled back on him.

They burned so hard, made **him** so –

"Garrosh?" The Hellscream jerked up suddenly, the world spinning as he groaned, stumbling to stand from the bar where his head had been pillowed on his arm that had rested on the wooden surface. He'd fallen asleep…

"What?!" He roared, angry, and flushed with arousal. He felt the throbbing tattoo against his thigh and hissed, turning back to the bar to hide it as the door opened and whoever it was stepped inside.

"You left awfully quickly…" The familiar, deep murmur sounded and Garrosh's stomach dropped. He shuddered, his lower body twitching at the baritone. "…Is there something wrong?"

"No!" He growled, but the exclamation was so vehement that not even he believed it. Again there was a pause; that dreaded silence that rang out from that night as well. The Hellscream tried to calm himself, tried to send away the rage that had surged up within him. "…I was resting, that was all."

Footsteps…Those plated boots he knew too well thudded across the stone floor as Saurfang neared him. His elbow found the bar and Garrosh prayed that his lower body was shadowed enough to hide his arousal. Varok leaned on his arm, and the Hellscream turned his head to look at him. His eyes were narrowed, their intensity not like that of his dream…They were cold and hollow. "Watch yourself boy…This campaign could be cut short for **you** if you don't straighten up." He was clearly irritated, his dark irises marking his words as a solid promise.

Silence, more infuriating, shameful silence filled his ears. How could he respond? What was he supposed to say? Garrosh kept his eyes on the bar, watching the flicker of shadows along the wooden surface, and clenched his jaw. _I can't look at him…If I do…I – I don't know what I'll do. His voice… _Even now it sent pleasant tingles over his skin, as if he were still whispering it against his throat. He tried to change his mind, repel the arousal coursing against his thighs, and kill the beast that was purring in his mind…Wanting him to attack the elder's mouth with his own, and bring him flush against him.

"…Your plans weren't that bad." Saurfang finally grumbled out, his eyes having softened slightly, and touched the younger's shoulder, trying to get him to look at him finally. But Garrosh jerked away from him, his amber eyes looking anywhere but at him. "For someone who has never been outside a brawl with Ogres they were quite…skilled." He tried to appease the younger Orc, but that was the last thing the Hellscream wanted to hear.

"But Dranosh's were better, so just use them." He hissed, his arousal having surged a little at the approval that he so sought from the other.

"Garrosh…" That was it. He was about to snap. That voice…His name.

"I need my rest, is there anything else you wanted, **Overlord**?" He jerked his head around, glaring at him, and moved for his bedroom door.

"…No." The answer was sullen, Saurfang's eyes narrowing again as he turned, and left.

S-G

Garrosh sighed, leaning back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling. Everything was quiet now in his room, with the exception of the occasional boom of a cannon, the holler of a command, or the cry of a mighty fallen Scourge Lord. The beast had grown restless after that fantasy, pulverizing him with the want to taste the elder. Hell, he'd never even been close enough to his lips to taste the air he exhaled that he so often dreamt of. For a week the beast hissed and growled at him from the confines of its place…

That was…Till Dranosh died. Saurfang had become distant, his eyes developing a film of transparence, of pain hidden so in depth that it would never be allowed to break the surface. He sighed; closing his eyes, and shook his head. The beast had remained quiet inactive, and had only given the smallest of little mewls or whines at the sight of the elder's irises.

The Hellscream stood when the clock sounded, alerting him to another war meeting…

G-S

The 'make-out' scene was supposed to be more intimate than anything else. It's supposed to make you want to see Garrosh kiss him…But then not, because then it would be too easy. XD Don't worry, things pick up a little quicker next chapter. I need reviews! Tips on how to portray Garrosh correctly in these situations helps me out a bunch! :3 Thanks all.

Warning: Fluffy. Yeah, since I finally started moving my stories over...I decided to write for some fandoms I'd almost forgotten.


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